


Stupid Mistakes

by darwinsdonut



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Aliens, Lots of Angst, M/M, Oneshot, Post Season 15, Valhalla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 20:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14245200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darwinsdonut/pseuds/darwinsdonut
Summary: Tucker and Washington both said things they didn't mean, and it was a stupid fight anyway- but now Washington's disappeared in a trail of blood and Tucker's the one left with his regrets.





	Stupid Mistakes

Tucker slouched against the wall and heaved a sigh. His head ached, his eyes were sore, and he just wanted to go lay down. Sharp words rang in his ears, acid tongue still burning in his mouth. Why had _any_ of that been necessary? 

The argument with Washington relentlessly pounded against his short-term memory, highlighting the worst bits. He’d called Washington a failed Freelancer, he’d called Washington heartless, he’d called Washington bitter and pathetic. And he hadn’t meant any of it, not really. But Washington had also called Tucker lazy, arrogant, slobbish, a pest, and a pervert. He’d phrased it all in a way that stung a hell of a lot more. While Tucker accepted he didn’t mean the horrible things he’d said, he also couldn’t baselessly forgive Washington for the words he’d said. Maybe that was arrogance. Tucker lacked the energy to care right then; all he really wanted was to lay down at Washington’s side and just forget everything that had happened. They were bound to work it out- they’d worked out worse- but they hadn’t fought like this since well before they’d gotten together. 

The hallway to the ship echoed hollow emptiness, and Tucker forced himself to go to his bunk and lay down. Maybe if they gave it some time, slept off their anger, they could _talk_ about it later. He laid down, still pissed about everything and too weary to even feel it anymore. Tugged the blanket over him without really caring. 

And then laid there. 

For an hour. 

The silence dragged on, and every bump in the hallway made him hope for a knock on the door, an approaching apology, but every bump became little more than another disappointment. His thoughts circled, emotions swelling and shoved down, and his headache only worsened. His pride told him anyone who harbored that many insults for him couldn’t actually care about him that much; his empathy told him he’d reacted the same exact way and he knew he cared. 

After the hour had passed, he nearly gave up- and then someone knocked on the door. 

Tucker glanced at the door, expectant, traitorously hopeful, a tinge still angry- and saw Caboose. He suppressed a sigh. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were asleep,” Caboose said, shuffling backward. “I’ll just-” 

“What is it, Caboose?” 

Caboose poked his head back in. “Have you seen Wash?” 

Tucker ignored the prick of worry. “No, not for over an hour. Why?” 

“Well, he- he’s probably fine, he just- he walked out of the base and hasn’t been back. And there were kinda some gunshots…? I don’t know, he’s probably-” 

_“Why didn’t anyone tell me!”_

Tucker leapt out of bed and put on his suit faster than he ever had. “C’mon, Caboose, we have to go find him.” 

Tucker led Caboose back through the Valhalla base, finding Carolina in the main room. “Carolina- Wash is missing?” 

“I thought he was with you.” 

“I haven’t seen him in over an hour.” 

She stood from her seat. “Caboose said he went for a walk.” 

“Did Caboose tell you he heard gunfire? Because no one fuckin’ told me that.” 

Carolina’s head jerked toward the archway, presumably the one Washington had vanished through. “Shit. Let’s go.” 

Outside, bright sun beat down from a blue sky, mocking Tucker’s turmoil. One stupid fucking fight- if _Last I checked you were loyal to Freelancers more than us anyway_ were the last words Tucker said to him- Tucker forced himself to take a deep breath. It was one thing to have a quarrel with someone and resolve it later, go on to be a little bitter about harsh words exchanged, finally fully forgive months after the fact. It was impossibly more painful to think Washington could be- could be in danger, and Tucker might never get to apologize. His heart beat rapidly, hammering against his chest, and he willed it to slow. _Focus._ He was never going to find Washington if he was panicked about their argument. 

“Okay, Caboose: which way did the gunfire come from?” 

Caboose circled on the spot, looking at their surroundings, and then pointed at a distant mountain range. “That-a-way.” 

Tucker started toward it before Carolina could even make a battle plan. He heard her plotting and strategizing, but his head spun too much to retain any of it. He needed to get to Washington, to find him safe, tell him it was okay, just a stupid fight- he had to know Washington was _fine-_ and he was terrified to find anything else. 

He focused on keeping his breathing even as he followed Carolina and Caboose down the hill and across the river, into the fields beyond. What could be out here? Besides the Reds and Blues, Valhalla hadn’t made a peep in the month they’d been camping there. Nothing suggested danger or violence, not a single warning sign. So naturally, whatever threat lived here had reared its ugly head just in time to make Tucker aware of the biggest mistake of his life. He had to stop thinking like that- combat only got harder if you panicked- but- _fuck,_ he couldn’t just stay calm thinking Washington was under the impression Tucker held him in such low opinion. 

They reached an opening with bullet casings scattered around, a patch of blood on a tree and a furrow in the dirt where someone had been dragged away. Tucker surveyed the scene and wordlessly followed the trail. 

“Tucker, wait.” 

He paused at Carolina’s request. “What?” 

“Rushing in after whatever took Wash could just get us all killed. We should get the Reds, or more information, or something-” 

“Carolina, with all due respect, I’m not going to just leave Wash to get fucking murdered. You and Caboose can go back for the Reds, but I’m going after him.” 

“Look, I know you’re upset-” 

“I don’t think you do!” Tucker turned to her. “It’s been a long-ass day, I’m tired, and I want to get this over with so I can get back to base and not have to worry about shit!” 

She sighed. “That’s perfectly understandable, but we can’t just rush in and get killed!” 

“You want a plan? Here’s the plan: we follow the trail, we kill whatever we find, and we _save Wash._ That’s it, that’s the whole fucking plan. Sound good?” 

“What if it just kills us?” She asked. “We have no idea what’s down there-” 

_“I. Don’t. Care.”_

He started down the trail, Carolina and Caboose reluctantly following. Maybe they were right- maybe it wasn’t right of him to lead them to their potential death like this- but he needed to find Washington. That took priority over everything. He didn’t know when that change had happened in his head, maybe it was because he couldn’t lose anyone else, maybe it was because he’d already almost lost Wash before, but he knew he had to find him. He just couldn’t leave things how they’d ended. 

He _couldn’t._

Tucker calmed his thoughts as he walked, putting all his focus into moving one foot in front of the other and watching his surroundings for any sort of clue as to what was to come. Nothing presented itself, and he hated walking in blind, but he knew, somewhere ahead, Washington either waited for a rescue or- well, Tucker couldn’t actually think of the alternative. That was some shit his head refused to wrap around. Washington was fine; he had to be. You didn’t just survive a shot in the throat to die in Valhalla. 

A cave stretched against the base of a cliff that wound upward into a mountain. Tucker took a deep breath. He could see the footprints and trail of whatever had dragged Washington away, and the furrow left by Washington. _He’s alive. He’s gotta be alive._ More blood-spots adorned this part of the trail, making Tucker’s anxiety increase tenfold. He forced a deep breath and glanced back at Carolina and Caboose. They could _do_ this- they were Blue Team, for fuck’s sake, and when’s the last time Blue Team lost? 

He didn’t want to think about that, actually. 

He headed into the cave, determination pushing his feet forward, eyes on the trail ahead. Carolina and Caboose followed behind him, their footsteps echoing around the cave. Tucker’s sporadic heartbeat seemed so loud in the silence he feared it would alert their enemy, and he forcibly evened his breathing. _It’s gonna be okay. It’s all gonna work out. He’s going to be fine._

He took a step forward and a light flashed bright, and then smoke surrounded them. A high-pitched ringing deafened Tucker so that he barely heard Carolina shout her team-mates’ names, and then he couldn’t hear or see a thing. 

Tucker stumbled backward through the fog, looking for Carolina- for Caboose- regretting- _fuck,_ what was he supposed to do now? 

Something pierced his shoulder and fiery pain followed the the impact, spreading through his chest. Tucker’s throat seemed to swell, his vision spun, and then he was down. 

As the world spiraled away, darkness taking its place, Tucker was left with nothing but his own regrets. 

* * *

Blue Base was abandoned. 

Grif had heard the gunshots earlier, and Sarge had commanded him to go check Blue Base for the source of the raucous. When it became a matter of checking on Blue Team or helping Donut polish Sarge’s boots, Grif had decided to go for a walk. 

There was no one in the base, no one outside the base, no one on top of the base. Grif wasn’t one for worry, but… Would the Blues really just leave without a word? They’d all been through so much together, and there _had_ been gunshots. Maybe they were in trouble somewhere. 

Grif headed back to Red Base after a (semi-)thorough investigation proved fruitless. He found Sarge standing by the Warthog with Donut and Lopez. 

“And if we can get the coil-thingy for it, I think it’d be a great plan!” Sarge said as Grif approached. “What do you think, Lopez? Upgrade the turret to a rocket launcher?” 

_Terrible idea,_ Grif noted, but didn’t say a word. Sarge wouldn’t listen, anyway, so it would be wasted breath. 

“Por favor no me involucres en esto,” Lopez replied. 

“Hey, Grif!” Donut greeted him. “How’d the investigation go? Find anything stimulating?” 

“Uh, yeah- the whole base is empty.” 

Sarge looked up at that. “Huh? Empty, is it? So those dirty Blues have turned deserter!” 

“No, Sarge, I don’t think it’s like that,” Grif said. “All their stuff is still there, and besides,” he gestured the Pelican sitting between the bases, “They would’ve taken that, not gone out on foot.” 

Sarge considered. “So… Maybe they’re out for a nice morning walk, on a chilly autumn morning! Feel the crisp air and watch the sunrise!” 

“But, sir,” Donut interjected, “It’s a sunny spring afternoon!” 

“Well, that _would_ be a problem if they wanted a chilly autumn morning walk,” Sarge said, his attention already wandering back to the warthog. 

“Sarge, I think something happened to them,” Grif said. “And I’m not the first person to want to help anyone, but-” 

“Well, there you go! You can help ‘em!” 

Grif already felt the mounting pool of regret at speaking up. “Sarge, if the _whole_ team is in danger, I don’t think there’s much I can do.” 

“Then take Simmons and Donut! Lopez and I have actual work to do here. You’ll have to figure it out for yourself, son. I believe in you. And if anyone gets shot, well- make sure it’s you.” 

Grif sighed. “I’m not doing this.” 

“It’s an order!” 

“The command structure isn’t even real!” 

Sarge had returned his wrench to the warthog while Lopez watched in monotone despair. “If you’re not back by sunset, we’ll take the rocket-launcher and warthog and come find ya. Am I agreed?” 

“This is a terrible plan.” 

Sarge turned his head toward the base. “Simmons! Come on out here! You got a mission to go on!” 

* * *

_“Wash?”_

He woke to blurred vision, wrists in tight manacles hanging from the wall, but almost instantly saw the yellow-striped black armor across the cell from him. Tucker gaped, horror-struck- Washington was bound the same as Tucker, but he hunched forward, asleep or… 

“Washington! Agent Washington! Wake the fuck up!” Tucker snapped. No response. “Wash, come on, _please-_ you’ve gotta be alright- come on, wake _up-!”_

Nothing. Not a word out of him. And now, Tucker realized, he was chained up the same, and Caboose and Carolina were most likely in there somewhere, too. 

It was the first time in his life that Tucker felt true regret. 

He’d done a lot of things that weren’t the best. He’d learned a lot of lessons the hard way. None of those had become regrets; Tucker hadn’t let them, because they were just learning experiences. And he wouldn’t regret anything that helped him grow as a person. This wasn’t like that. This was his team in danger and potentially dead, and this was his own stupid fucking recklessness, and this was his own stupid fucking fault. Lavernius Tucker, the fucking idiot who got his team killed, and it was all for nothing. 

He wanted to scream. 

He turned instead to Washington, refusing to believe he was dead, deciding he was asleep. “Look, Wash, I don’t care about the fight we had- that was stupid, alright? I’m sorry for saying the things I did. You’re not just some random Freelancer; you’re our friend and you’ve been with us for years now. You’re more than just a friend to me, but that’s, you know, we’re still figuring that out. But we can’t figure it out if you don’t wake up, so you have to, alright? I can’t do this alone, and I can’t- can’t fucking lose someone else. Look, okay, _look,_ Carolina and Caboose are relying on us, so we have to get out of here and save them. Alright, Wash? Come on, wake up.” His forced calm started to crash. “Wake _up,_ Wash! Wake the fuck up!” 

His desperation was growing again. Tucker had thought rock bottom was being forcibly led by Caboose while a war machine threatened them, he’d thought rock bottom was losing Church, and still there was always worse. This was rock bottom. But even then, some detrimental voice reminded him it could get worse- whatever had captured them could come back, eliminate any chance of Washington being asleep, tell him Caboose and Carolina were dead. 

Tucker wasn’t sure what would be worse: continuing in fearful uncertainty, or hearing the painful truth. 

“Wash, please,” Tucker said, voice strained, barely working. “I can’t- I can’t fucking do this alone. I can’t do it without you. Come on, please, _please,_ wake up.” 

Still no response. 

Still just a body slouched on a wall. 

Tucker sat for an endless time, occasionally spitting out more words to the lump that was Washington. Wishing he had some relief from his personal hell. Finding small relief in the fact he didn’t smell death, still terrified Washington hadn’t woken up. Having plenty of time to ruminate and regret and hate himself. Tucker had been through a lot of shit, but never this. Never, ever this. 

Something shifted outside the door after what could’ve been thirty minutes, or could’ve been three hours. Tucker looked up, hoping that if it was death it was quick. 

The door opened, and the same assholes Tucker had been tired of seeing since Blood Gulch appeared. He had never been so happy to see them. 

“Grif, get Tucker, I’ll get Wash,” Simmons said, bursting into the room. 

“Where’s Carolina and Caboose?” Tucker asked. 

“Carolina met us in the hall,” Simmons said, making quick work of freeing Washington. “She and Caboose and Donut are just outside the door.” 

As soon as the manacles were off, Tucker went quickly to Washington. “Wash, c’mon, wake up, we have to go.” 

Washington didn’t move. Didn’t even groan as Tucker slapped his helmet a bit to try and wake him up. A wave of despair threatened to swell and Tucker squashed it. “C’mon, help me get his helmet off so we can-” 

“There’s no time!” Simmons said. “We didn’t actually kill the aliens, we just bypassed them a bit, but we had to kill a couple to get back here- as soon as they find out, we’re all dead.” 

_Fuck._ Tucker saw one solution and scooped up Washington, thankful for the very first time for all those drills he’d run. “Okay, let’s go.” 

They hurried back through a complex cave system, Carolina and Grif taking the rear of the group with weapons ready, Simmons and Donut leading the way. Tucker felt sweeping reassurance at Carolina and Caboose seemingly unharmed. The corpse- _no, not a corpse, he’s just asleep-_ in his arms, however, kept any real happiness from appearing. 

They reached an opening outside the cave with only one brief encounter with hostile aliens and found Sarge waiting in the warthog. Nightfall had dropped moonlight over the cliffs, and Lopez, at the turret, waited till they were out of the cave before firing. An RPG blast rocked the cliffs, the mountain crumbling downward and blocking the cave entrance. 

“Ha! Take that, ya slimy sons of bitches!” Sarge shouted. “Now c’mon! Any injured?” 

Tucker had never been so relieved to see Sarge at full… Sargeness. 

“Wash still isn’t awake,” Tucker said, hopping in the passenger seat. 

“The rest of ya will have to walk!” Sarge called to his team. “Back to base, on the double!” 

Sarge pulled off in the warthog, Tucker sitting with Washington slumped against him. He had to be okay. What was it Caboose always said? _It’s all gonna be okay. It’s all gonna be okay._ Tucker kept repeating it to himself, numb to anything else, to the wind through the warthog or the firs rising to the moonlight. Fuck. 

They reached Red Base and stopped and Tucker hopped out, picking up Washington again and carrying him into the base. Tucker laid him on the floor of the base as Sarge and Lopez came in behind him, and Tucker hated the prickling concern Sarge seemed to have- for Tucker, not for Washington. Washington was the one to worry about, not Tucker. 

Tucker carefully removed Washington’s helmet, and stared down for a second. Washington’s eyes were closed, face pale, completely still. 

Tucker’s eyes darted over Washington’s face. “Wash? Come on, Wash, wake up. We’re back at the base. You can wake up now.” 

Sarge sighed behind him and laid a hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “Son? I don’t think he’s waking up.” 

“Shut the fuck up, no! He’s going to wake up! He has to!” 

Tucker looked down at Washington, patted his cheek a bit. “Washington, come on! Come on! _Please,_ you have to wake up!” His voice broke. “Please! Not again!” 

His fingers moved to Washington’s neck, feeling around- a pulse, the warmth of blood, anything, _please, God, please-_

There. 

The faintest thrum of a pulse. 

Weak, barely beating, but _there._ Tucker gasped. Terrified to hope, desperate for something to hold on to- what did he do now? Tucker’s hand hovered over Washington’s mouth. Barely breathing, but breathing. No CPR, then. 

Tucker turned to Sarge. “He’s alive! What do I do? How do I help him?” 

“You need a defibrillator!” 

“I don’t know why I asked you.” 

Tucker turned back to Washington. His mind flashed back to all the blood Washington had lost. Maybe that was it? But- fuck, blood had to come from somewhere- if Tucker’s fucking brain could _work_ properly this would be so much easier. 

He set through the process of removing Washington’s armor to find the injury. Once Washington was stripped, Tucker found them: a gunshot through his forearm and just below his ribs. _Fuck._ Tucker wasn’t qualified to fix that, and it felt a little late for first aid. 

“Sarge, call Doc,” Tucker said. “Tell him we need him _ASAP.”_

Tucker rushed to bandage the wounds, to at least hold in what blood still leaked out. Apply pressure, clean the wound, wrap tight- _he had to be okay._ A surreal kind of numbness clouded Tucker’s brain as he went through the motions of basic first aid. He did everything he could think of, and then sat. 

And sat. 

Moving someone with a wound in their stomach like Washington’s was a terrible idea, but Tucker wasn’t leaving his side. Never again. Tucker sat on the floor of the base, dimly aware when Carolina joined him on Washington’s other side, and Donut guided Caboose to somewhere to sleep and worked at comforting him. Tucker sat until his eyes fell heavy, then laid on the floor by Washington, holding his hand. Carolina gently laid her hand on Tucker’s shoulder before she left the room as well, going to sleep. 

Tucker didn’t want to fall asleep, and he slept restlessly when he did, turmoil waking him often. Between snatches of rest, he would wake and look at Washington, or at one point strip from his own armor down to the bodysuit they wore underneath. Mostly, he just laid there, and regretted. 

All he wanted was to _talk_ to him again. 

* * *

Doc arrived around noon. 

Tucker asked Carolina to force him away, so he wouldn’t interfere with any process Doc used to try to save Washington. He paced the Red Base roof, barefoot under the hot sun of day, feeling the metal underfoot remind him this was real. He sat down after a while with his legs hanging off the ledge, and Carolina came and sat next to him. 

“Tucker…” She started, trailed off, and then tried again, “I know we haven’t always been great friends. I didn’t like any of you, and then ran away with Church, and then came back in time for everything to go wrong. But whatever happens with Wash, I’m here for you, okay?” 

A selfish part of Tucker wanted to say he didn’t want _her,_ he wanted Wash. But he remembered feeling that way about not wanting Washington as a friend because he wanted Church, and he had spent half of last night vowing to learn from past mistakes, so he forced himself to kill that selfish part of him. 

“Thanks, Carolina.” He looked up at the blue sky, hating every puffy white cloud and warm breeze. “I… Want to say more, but I’m having a hard time being tactful right now.” 

She laughed lightly. “Then don’t worry about tact. Just speak your mind.” 

“Okay.” Tucker hesitated, trying to form the words and hating the way it all made him _feel._ “I am… Scared beyond belief and pissed off at myself. Wash went for a walk because we got in this huge fight over fucking _nothing._ And it was all my fault! I made a stupid joke about him being a Freelancer more than a Blue, and he said some smartass remark back, and I retaliated and it just kept getting worse until it was an actual _fight._ And instead of taking responsibility and listening to anyone else, I stayed wrapped up in my own head and selfish as fuck and almost got the whole team killed. And I- I can’t fucking lose anyone else. And I’m sorry, this is nothing against you, but I’d rather be talking to Wash or Church about all this, and I’m tired of caring about people just to lose them all over again.” 

Carolina stayed turned to him for a moment, and then looked away. “I know how you feel.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” She paused, and then took a deep breath. “I… Had someone who felt about me how Wash feels about you. I never had time to return it. And then there was a huge fight, and-” 

“York?” 

She looked over. “How do you know about him?” 

“Washington mentioned him a few times. Said he was always kind of in love with you.” 

Carolina tensed, and nodded. “That’s true. We knew each other before Freelancer. The last interaction I ever had with him was giving him back the lighter I took the night we met. He thought I was dead, but still never gave up hope. By that point, most of the people I’d once thought would be my team for life had turned on me, given up on me, or died. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to rant about it to York and have him tell me I’m worrying too much, or ask how I’m still so beautiful even when I feel defeated. He was… Kind of like you, actually. Cocky, charismatic, smooth-talking. He just had it down better than you do.” 

Tucker gaped as she grinned at him. “I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up!” 

Carolina chuckled, but it dropped. “Anyway. We actually fought, and then I gave him back the lighter and never saw him again. Everyone thought I died, but he held out hope. And then he died and I was… Well. I didn’t deal with it for a long time. Church was the only one who really knew and understood all of it. And I just kept wondering, if I’d gone back and fixed things, would it have changed the outcome?” 

Tucker felt a pang in his chest. Carolina actually _did_ know how he felt. 

“How did you deal with it?” He asked. 

She looked up at the blue sky. “I just kept reminding myself that none of them- York, North, Connie, even South- would want me to spend my life bitter or moping. So I just kept going, doing what felt like the right thing and accepting that I can’t change the past. And I know that when York died, he understood why I did what I did. And, for some reason, he forgave me.” 

Tucker sighed, still stinging from all his stupid mistakes. He just wanted to fix things with Washington. He wanted to hear Washington exasperated and telling him he was an idiot. Groaning because things got heated and Tucker made a _bow-chicka-bow-wow_ joke. To see Washington’s eyes staring love and frustration while chucking a pillow at Tucker for whatever stupid thing he’d done that time. 

“Wash is going to be okay, right? I mean, Doc’s there keeping an eye on him, he’s gonna be okay. Right?” 

Carolina laid an arm on Tucker’s shoulders. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together.” 

But Tucker felt painfully, painfully alone right then. 

And only one person could fix his loneliness, and they weren’t able to. 

* * *

The bunk was emptier than ever, the shadows of the room deepened, and the sleepless night did Tucker no good. 

He rolled, shifted, curled his legs, straightened them. Turned his head this way, turned it that way. Threw his arm over his eyes, threw his arm to the side, tucked it under him. Nothing worked. There was no comfort to be found. He knew if he had Washington there, laying with him, entangled with each other, hands clasped and heartbeats syncing, he could sleep. 

But he had to stop thinking like that. 

The possibility he’d never have that again was only too real, and wishing for it wouldn’t help him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the thoughts, tried to ignore the pulsing hope that wouldn’t leave his stupid heart. Tucker had always been too hopeful- it was what made him so fucking reckless. What made him so stupid. So much more naive than he ever wanted to admit. Give him an ounce of possibility, and within a heartbeat he’d accepted the whole universe could be saved. 

He sighed and rolled over again, eyes opening to the darkness, flitting to the yellow light under the door. 

Tucker sat bolt upright. 

Two shadows stood outside the door, about the right size for feet. The knob started to turn. Tucker tried to kill his hope, snuff the flame, there was _no way-_

The door opened. 

“I couldn’t sleep. Mind if I join you?” 

_“WASH!”_

Tucker leapt out of bed and had his arms around him in about two milliseconds. Washington chuckled lightly, and then coughed, wrapping his arms around Tucker. “Doc said I probably shouldn’t be up walking around… But I needed to see you.” Washington pulled back from the hug and laid his hands on Tucker’s cheeks. Tucker forced down the emotions welling up. “I’m sorry about our fight.” Washington’s voice cracked. “It was stupid-” 

“No, no, it was all me,” Tucker said. “I made a joke I shouldn’t have. We both said things we didn’t mean. Wash, I don’t care about- the fight- I don’t give a half-creamed fuck about the argument.” Tucker laid his hands on Washington’s. Now his voice cracked. “I’m just glad you’re alive.” 

Washington hugged Tucker back to him. 

Tucker felt a heartbeat against his ear, warmth under his arms, overwhelming relief. The light of a hope he’d tried to deny, beaming bright. He had never been so fucking grateful. For the briefest moment, he wondered if he’d fallen asleep and this was all a dream, but he didn’t think even his subconscious was that good- or that cruel- to him. And thank _fuck_ this was happening. 

He leaned back and his hand laid on Washington’s cheek. “Hey- no more stupid fights, okay? Or wandering off after them!” 

Washington chuckled. “Okay.” 

Tucker laid his head back on Washington’s chest, eyes closing, and felt Washington’s heartbeat against his ear. Sweet, sweet life beating through him, reassuring Tucker that, for once, everything had actually turned out okay.


End file.
